


Ocean

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, M/M, Romance, Song Lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 02:03:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist





	Ocean

 

## Ocean

by Rhipodon Society

Author's webpage: <http://www.geocities.com/soho/square/6381>

* * *

**OCEAN**

 

  
all the world is and all that i am is that black of  
the blackest ocean and that tear in your hand

\--tori amos, tear in your hand

* * *

He felt it before he heard it. Well, that probably wasn't true. What his resident witch doctor would probably say was that he did hear it, just barely. The fringes of his mind picked up the sound and didn't bother to inform the rest of his brain. His resident witch doctor liked to say that everything in the human mind was on a need to know basis.

Whatever. Maybe he was hearing something he didn't know he heard, or maybe it was some stupid spirit guide thing ... what it boiled down to was that he was pretty sure Sandburg was crying, and it made his stomach hurt.

By the time he pulled in next to their building, he could hear it easily. Panicky and aching, punctuated with gasps for breath. He scowled at the steering wheel of the truck, then got out and slammed the door.

Of course, it would stop the second he opened the door to the loft. If Naomi Sandburg thought she'd raised her son without typical male hang-ups, she was badly mistaken. Blair hated crying in front of other people as much as the next guy, who in this case would be Jim.

Jim turned down his hearing as he entered the stairwell.

"Don't cry," he whispered. "Don't cry about this. Please don't cry about this."

He said it to get it out of his system, because there was no way he was going to say anything of the kind to Sandburg. Blair had every damned right to cry.

He put his key in the lock and waited a few seconds before pushing the door open. By the time he entered the loft,the crying had stopped.

Blair was standing at the balcony doors, wiping tears away with the sleeve of his coat. Jim absently reached over to turn up the thermostat.

"You're--" Blair cleared his throat and tried again. "You're home early."

"Yeah." Jim pulled the door shut and threw his coat onto a hook. "Talked Brown into handling the paperwork."

Blair nodded. He was wearing his apologetic, `you got me' grin. Jim wanted to tell him he had nothing to apologise for, but more than that he wanted to pretend he hadn't walked in on anything.

"I thought maybe you'd be at the university," he said. "Getting ... getting things settled."

Blair's eyes were lit by a flash of humour.

"I think things pretty much *are* settled," he said. He went to the couch and flopped down. "Hey ... did I ever tell you the story of the man who couldn't cry?"

Jim went into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee.

"If you did, I wasn't listening."

"Your punishment for that is having to hear it again. See, there was this guy who couldn't cry."

Jim smiled.

"I had that much figured out. Is this from one of your lectures?"

"No. It's ... kind of a folk story. Anyway, this guy, his life really sucked. Wife screwed him over, his dog died ... eventually he wound up in jail."

Now the story was starting to sound interesting.

"What did he do?"

"I forget. The point is, everyone thought he was crazy because he couldn't cry. So they locked him in an insane asylum."

"Is that where you met him?"

Blair smiled.

"That's funny. No, I'm telling you, this is just a story. He really liked it in the asylum. And he started crying every time it rained. And this asylum must have been somewhere around Cascade, because at one point it rained for forty days and forty nights straight."

"You know, Sandburg, you should apply for a job with Washington Tourism."

"So, he cried for forty days and forty nights straight."

"And then what?" Jim asked, regretting the words as soon as he spoke them.

"He died of dehydration."

Jim pulled out one of the dining room chairs and sat down.

"I should have shut you down before you even got started."

Blair had a funny look on his face.

"Maybe. Too late now." He shrugged. "It all worked out for the guy, because he went to heaven and got his dog back. It's a happy ending."

Jim wasn't sure what to say to that. He decided to leave it alone.

"How about," he said, "I buy pizza for dinner?"

Blair laughed. It was about as jagged as his crying, and Jim didn't like it.

"What's so damned funny about pizza?"

The laughter tapered off.

"I'm sorry," Blair said. "It's not pizza. It's you and me and food. Pizza sounds great."

Jim nodded and went to the kitchen for menus.

"I should've gone to clean out my office," Blair said. He'd waited until the moment Jim's back was turned, which was probably a kindness. It meant Jim didn't have to worry about what might show on his face.

"You have `til the end of the week," Jim said.

"I know, but why wait?" Blair paused, then answered his own question. "I didn't have the nerve."

The menus fell from Jim's hand. Blair had never struck him as a guy who lacked nerve.

"What do you mean, you didn't have the nerve?" An unpleasant thought occurred to him and he turned to face Blair. "Is somebody there bothering you? Did somebody say something to you?"

Blair's eyes widened.

"No, man, nobody said anything to me. But that's only because I wasn't there. And speaking of things I haven't had the nerve to do ..."

He waved a hand at the answering machine. Jim started counting the flashes, but stopped when he got to ten.

"Sandburg," he said evenly, "you know you're not supposed to turn down the answering machine."

"Right," Blair said. "Because one of the thousands of people who've sworn vengeance against us might break out of prison at any moment and come here to murder me. The thing is, compared to listening to those messages, being murdered doesn't sound so bad."

He said it with a smile, but Jim knew Sandburg's jokes when he heard them, and that wasn't one. Not really.

"I don't understand why anyone from Rainier would be calling you. I thought you said things were settled."

"They are." Blair lay back on the couch and shut his eyes. "You know something, Jim? I used to be pretty good at what I did. You'd never guess it from the way I handled my doctoral thesis, but there was a time when I was considered someone to watch."

"I know you started school early," Jim said. There were other things he could have said, but Blair already knew them. He had to know, didn't he?

"Yeah. Some people really hate that. They think it invalidates them . This will come as a surprise to you, but a lot of people don't like me."

Jim didn't mean to laugh, but he did, and he was relieved to see that it made Blair smile.

"They wanted me out of the department, and the more time I took on my diss and the more classes I missed because I was in the hospital or whatever ... I gave them a lot of fuel. The only reason I was allowed to stay was my history. My reputation. Now that's been shot to hell, and maybe I've misjudged human nature, but I think they'll be wanting to gloat."

Jim took a deep breath.

"I don't think you've misjudged human nature," he admitted. "You're in the middle of the ocean and you just ran out of shark repellant. You want me to hit the erase button?"

"No." Blair had opened his eyes and was studying the ceiling in case it held the deepest secrets of the universe. "There'll be calls I should return. There are people who've supported me for the past four years, and they're taking a lot of heat right now. I have to find some way to apologise."

*Tell them the truth*, Jim thought. But of course Blair couldn't, and Jim didn't really want him to.

"I could listen to the messages for you," he offered. Blair sat up and looked at him.

"I should get up the nerve to listen to my own messages," he said. Jim shrugged.

"Why? You don't need to listen to what those people have to say. I'm not in the mood to watch you get attacked."

Blair gave him that funny look again, then shrugged and stood.

"I'm going to have a shower."

Once the water was running, Jim hit play on the answering machine. The messages spilled out, tripping over each other in their impatience to spit venom. And a few, as Blair had predicted, sounded quietly betrayed.

Jim made a list of those hurt, confused people, their names and their numbers. He added the name of a man who was threatening to revoke a scholarship. Unpleasant though it was, that probably wasn't a call Blair could afford to ignore. He left that list on the desk in Blair's room.

Then he went through the calls again and made a list of his own.

When the shower stopped, Jim picked up the phone and ordered pizza.

* * *

 

  
sounds like the machine is demonically possessed again.  
better than no messages at all,though.

\--max, sam and max: freelance police

* * *

They watched tv while they ate, eliminating the need for talk. A few pieces of information were exchanged between bites of pizza ... that Naomi had called from Sau Paulo and her flight had been unexceptional, that Cascade's latest arsonist had managed to leave a key with a War Amps tag at the scene of the crime.

Somewhere along the line, Blair tilted until his head was on the arm of the couch and promptly fell asleep.

Jim cleaned up the pizza, threw a blanket over Blair, and stood watching him for a minute. He looked older than he had when they'd met. That was natural, since it had been four years, but it had happened under Jim's radar. It came as a surprise.

"They grow up so fast," Jim said softly. Blair mumbled something in his sleep and Jim carefully smoothed back his hair. He was older, sure, but still young. And not the sort of person who ought to be torn apart by sharks.

Jim went up to his bedroom, took out his personal list of phone numbers, and dialed.

An answering machine picked up after five rings and told him that although Dr. Weaver was currently unavailable, he would be happy to return the call.

Jim doubted it.

"I'm calling about a phone call you placed this afternoon to 555- 8363," he said. "I have a copy of your message. I don't know if you're aware of this, but it's a federal offense to use certain words on the telephone. If you bother Mr. Sandburg again, I'll see that you're dragged into court. "

He hung up without identifying himself. Hopefully that jackass would assume he was Blair's lawyer.

"One down..." he said, placing an x beside Weaver's name .

He whiled away the evening making phone calls and veiled threats. Most of the time he left messages, but occasionally he got a real live asshole. Those calls he particularly enjoyed.

It was oddly cathartic, telling those people to leave Blair alone, suggesting what might happen if they didn't. Something tight and uncomfortable in his chest began to loosen. He was humming softly to himself as he checked off the last name, and he was startled to hear a soft voice on the stairs behind him.

"So... you feel better?"

* * *

 

  
thou wouldst wish thine own heart dry of blood  
that in my veins red life might stream again,  
and thou be conscience-calmed.

\--keats, lines to fanny brawne

* * *

It was embarrassing to ask, but Jim had to know.

"Been standing there long?"

Blair smiled with genuine pleasure. Jim guessed that he didn't even know he was doing it.

"No. Just caught the tail end of that last call. "

Jim folded the list and carefully set it under the phone, just in case any of them needed to be told a second time.

"I don't think they'll give you any more trouble," he said. Blair laughed, but he sounded a little sad.

"You are such a cop."

Jim could have pointed out that Blair would be one soon. He didn't. He didn't say anything. Blair was regarding him fondly, but his look said that he knew something Jim didn't.

"Look, Jim ... you didn't have to do that."

Jim shrugged.

"I wanted to. You don't deserve to be ... " He paused, thought about his words. "You made a huge sacrifice. It's done. It's over. Why should you keep paying for it?"

Blair climbed the last step and leaned against the wall. He'd changed into the t-shirt and boxers he worn for sleeping. How had Jim not heard that?

"Part of the deal," Blair said.

Sometimes Blair looked frighteningly small to Jim, as though his bones would break at a touch. Jim knew better, knew that Blair was small but tough. He'd learned that on the basketball court, and in the handful of scuffles they'd had over the course of four years. Still, the illusion came to him from time to time.

"Blair," he said. His voice was hoarse, and he realized that the tightness in his chest was back. "I wish I could fix this."

As soon as the words were out, he wanted desperately to reel them back. Both of them knew perfectly well that he could fix it. He was the only one who could.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. Blair regarded him steadily.

"If I'd wanted that," he said, "I would have let things stand."

Jim shook his head.

"I don't believe you. I think you want me to confess."

Blair's mouth curved.

"Confess. Jim, what I always wanted was for you to believe there was nothing wrong with you. I'd want the world to know about you ... if it were a different world. If you could still do your job and live your life." He shrugged, his t-shirt rasping where his shoulders met the wall. "I'm not crazy enough to believe the world is going to change."

Jim felt painfully close to tears.

"You used to be."

Blair laid his hands flat against the wall and pushed himself forward. He went to the end of Jim's bed and sat down.

"I'll be all right."

Jim looked at him in the soft light and thought about touching him, thought about tugging gently at one of those wild curls.

"You sure about that, Chief?"

Blair nodded. Jim studied his face, hoping to learn something.

"You're not gonna cry until you dehydrate?"

That got a laugh, a sincere and pleasant one.

"I'm not planning on it." He lay back on the bed and shut his eyes. "Anyone ever ask you that stupid question about if your house was on fire and you could only take one thing? You know ... what would you take?"

Jim thought about it.

"Yeah, some girlfriend asked me once. Why is it a stupid question?"

Blair smiled, his eyes still shut.

"Because you never know, man. You don't know until it happens to you. " He opened his eyes and rolled onto his side to look at Jim. "I was totally wrong when I guessed what I'd save."

He was about the sweetest thing Jim had ever seen, lying there on Jim's bed with his hair spread out and a soft glow in his eyes, looking like the promised land. Jim reached over and touched his hand.

"You should be Dr. Sandburg."

A wave rolled through the bed as Blair sighed.

"I should be able to clean out my office."

Jim smiled and pressed Blair's hand.

"You can. No one will say anything to you."

Blair laughed, turning the wave into ripples. Jim had bought the firmest mattress he could find, and still ...

When he stopped laughing, Blair looked at the place where Jim's hand rested on his own.

"It scares me," he admitted. "I'm not a doctoral student. I'm not Professor Sandburg. I'm persona non grata to nearly everyone I know." He met Jim's eyes, and Jim could see panic there. "I don't know who I am anymore."

Jim considered that.

"You're Blair Sandburg," he said, "born in 1969 to, god help us, Naomi Sandburg. You live at 852 Prospect in Cascade, Washington. You're the smartest detective in Major Crimes, the best basketball player in the unit, and the only one who knows how to fix the coffee machine."

"God, Jim, it's not rocket science. You--"

Jim gave him a gentle shove.

"I'm not finished. You're also Simon's personal tip sheet."

Blair's eyes widened.

"I never ..."

Jim shook his head.

"How stupid do you and Simon think I am? Don't answer that. Where was I? You're Shaman of the Great City. You're that nice boy from the third floor who carries in Mrs. Wong's groceries. You're the only partner I ever want. You're a neo-hippy witch doctor punk. You may be Timothy Leary's son. In which case, he got robbed, because he never got a chance to meet you." It took a few good blinks for the mist to clear from Blair's eyes.

"At least somebody knows me," he said. Jim felt a collision somewhere inside, the rush of electricity he'd felt when his panther introduced itself to Blair's wolf. He lay a hand on Blair's face the way he had that day.

"I should, by now."

And then he kissed his shaman.

It wasn't a friendly kiss on the cheek. It was the sort of passionate and thorough kiss Jim usually gave to people he intended to bed. Not that he'd had any intentions of any kind when he moved across the bed and lowered himself over Blair. It had just seemed, at that moment, to be a statement he wanted to make.

Blair kissed him back, which kept Jim from thinking about what he was doing until they finally pulled apart.

He found himself staring into huge and startled blue eyes.

"Uh, Jim ... was that supposed to be a prelude to something?"

The lines of colour along Blair's cheekbones might have been paint, carefully mixed and applied before a fire in the middle of the jungle. Jim ran a finger along the heated skin.

"I don't know. I just ..."

Blair rolled onto his back, one corner of his mouth turned up.

"You are some piece of work , Ellison."

Jim stared at him.

"You're not going anywhere," he said. It wasn't a question. It hadn't been a question from the moment Blair had told the mother of all lies.

"No," Blair said simply. Jim nodded.

"I don't want you being circled by those sharks you used to work with," he said, "and having some stupid idea that you have to handle it alone. I thought we were in this together."

Blair turned onto his side again.

"This?" he said softly.

Jim touched his hand.

"Everything."

Blair was shaking, fine tremors that even Jim could barely see.

"Everthing's kind of a lot," he said. Jim traced the back of Blair's hand, feeling the way the bones lay under the skin.

"I don't want other people," he said.

"This is a new idea," Blair told him. "I mean, it's not entirely a new idea, but--"

"Shut up," Jim suggested. He threw some weight behind that suggestion with a kiss and was pleased with the response.

"You kissed back," he pointed out. Blair smiled.

"I never said it was a *bad* idea. Might ... uh ... take a little getting used to, though."

"For me, too," Jim admitted. "I just thought of it tonight." For the first time, he noticed the dark circles under Blair's eyes, the unusual chalky tone of his skin. He sat up and pulled back the covers on one side of the bed. "Go to sleep," he said.

Blair looked as though he were considering a protest, but he said nothing. Instead, he crawled up the bed and slid in under the covers.

"Sleep would be good," he admitted.

Jim got in the other side and hesitated, then pulled Blair close and pressed his face into Blair's hair. The bed was rolling from their movements, making Jim a little sick. He anchored himself to the steady flow of Blair's breathing until the bed was calm again.

It might have been minutes or hours later when the phone rang.

"I'll get that," Jim said. Blair grabbed the arm Jim had thrown around his waist and held on.

"Don't bother," he said. "It's not important."

* * *

End

 


End file.
